


Special

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Regis picks Ignis up from school.





	Special

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Inspired by anon’s “bitty!Noctis helping bitty!Ignis pick out his first pair of glasses” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=8089902#cmt8089902). (But I messed up and forgot the ‘first’ part. OTL)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Ignis is one of the first students out on the curb—he’s more organized than most of his classmates, and his schedule is always so full that there’s no room for anything else. His uncle is usually equally as punctual, and while the rest of the school buzzes behind him, Ignis watches the road. His breath catches when the first car to pull up isn’t the old classic he’s used to, but the sleek black lines of the Regalia. Even more shocking, it’s the king himself that steps out of it. King Regis offers Ignis a gentle smile, and Ignis, clutching his books almost protectively against his chest, bows and blurts, “Your Majesty.” He’s been told that isn’t always necessary, but they’re in public, and Ignis _still_ isn’t quite used to the attentions of the royal family. He’s sure all his classmates will be talking about this tomorrow—someone will have seen, and Ignis won’t hear the end of it.

He’s not sure if he’s embarrassed or proud. King Regis even opens the door for him and cheerfully greets, “Good afternoon, Ignis.”

Ignis means to return the sentiment, but he’s too strangely tongue-tied, and nothing comes out as he slips into the backseat. Noctis is already inside, arm leaning against the window and face in his palm, like he couldn’t be more bored. But he mutters, “Hey, Iggy,” and Ignis nods back.

When the king has settled once again behind the wheel, Ignis tentatively asks, “Am I needed at the palace, Your Majesty?”

“No,” King Regis answers, lightly chuckling while he pulls way from the curb. In the rear view mirror, Ignis can see several other black cars tailing them, as to be expected when both royals are in one place. King Regis turns onto the road and explains, “Even a king needs a break now and again, and I thought I might pick up my son from school—one of the usual delights of fatherhood that I’m sadly unable to complete most days. Now that I was making the exception, I thought I may as well complete two tasks in one.”

Ignis nods, even though King Regis isn’t looking, and he doesn’t _quite_ understand—surely the king has better things to do than to pick up a commoner from school. Ignis wants to repeat his gratitude, but then Noctis asks, “Hey, what happened to your glasses?” 

Ignis blinks, absently touching the bridge of his nose—they snapped in first period, and the teacher had to bind them with tape. Before Ignis can explain, Noctis presses, “Did someone beat you up? I’ll knock them out!”

For a moment, Ignis is stunned to silence. Noctis continues his stern look, as though he could possibly best someone in Ignis’ grade. Then again, with all of Gladiolus’ training, maybe he could. Most of all, the mere fact that Noctis _would_ fight someone for him is surprising. And touching. 

But he can feel King Regis’ eyes on him in the rear view mirror, and he corrects, “No, I just jarred them off during gym, then accidentally stepped on them. I’ll get them repaired soon.”

“We can do that now,” King Regis suggests. Ignis immediately splutters his protests, but the king insists, “Really, it’s no trouble. You shouldn’t have to go a minute longer with broken glasses.”

They’re not _that_ broken. And it’s so unimportant that Ignis feels a swell of guilt at bothering the king with it, but he also can’t bring himself to argue with a king. As the car switches off the highway, Noctis leans in to whisper too low for his father to hear, “Don’t worry; I stumble in training all the time.” 

Ignis smiles gratefully. He knows neither him nor Noctis are particularly clumsy, but accidents happen. And he does think that someday Noctis will be an unstoppable, graceful fighter, even if he does slack off too much and miss too many practices.

In no time at all, they’re parking. Ignis quickly lets himself out before the king can get his door again, and Noctis, to his surprise, follows. He’d thought Noctis would stay in the car, although he didn’t think _any_ of this would happen. Together, the three of them cross to a tall building with a large sign of a smiling woman wearing a pair of bright red-rimmed glasses. A little bell rings as they step inside, and the few other customs and the staff alike go strangely quiet when they see who it is. Ignis fully understands. He’s still awed himself.

King Regis takes a short look around before heading over to a rack on the wall with child-sized frames. There’s a note on the side saying lenses will be added according to prescription, but first King Regis asks, “What style would you like, Ignis?”

Ignis is still a little too overwhelmed to make decisions. But Noctis scrutinizes the wall with more interest than he shows in most things, until he points to a particular pair and announces, “That one.”

It’s a slender black frame with nearly invisible bottoms, a slight curve to the tops, and a silver streak along the arms. It stands a bit out from the rest of the wall, looking perhaps a bit more mature, more subdued than the colourful, larger options. In a word, they fit. Ignis has always tried to be ‘tasteful,’ even if he has occasionally gotten teased for it. Noctis chose just right.

And more importantly, Prince Noctis picked them. There are occasions where they don’t quite get along, as with most ‘brothers,’ Ignis thinks, and he and Noctis aren’t even really that. But at moments like this, it feels like they could be. And those moments mean more to him than Noctis will ever know.

He tentatively asks King Regis, “Are those okay?”

King Regis smiles. He nods, then tells them, “Wait one moment; I’ll fetch a sales associate.” 

He doesn’t go far; just two steps over to the nearest counter. But as soon as his back’s turned, Noctis picks up a particularly garish coeurl-print set and puts them on, asking Ignis in a deadpanned voice, “Well? Do I look ‘spec’-cial?”

Ignis snorts back a laugh. 

King Regis buys him the black glasses Noctis picked, and Ignis wears and treasures them as long as he possibly can.


End file.
